


Est Victoria In Ministerio

by Anonymous



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/M, Master/Slave, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, You can bless all the oceans and it still wouldn't be enough holy water for this sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which a loyal follower of the Goddess of Victory is invited to her chambers, and learns of their deity's more private, personal needs and problems.





	Est Victoria In Ministerio

**Author's Note:**

> All characters of age of consent/immortal beings long beyond the concept of mortal age.
> 
> _Obscenely_ Excessive Amounts of Cum and Precum.
> 
> Lots of dicking around, heavily focused on cocks.
> 
> Supernatural fuckery, deities and such.
> 
> Master-Slave roleplay, male pronouns as the author couldn’t find a good gender neutral term.
> 
> Cockworship.

No one knew what it is that happened in the Goddess of Victory’s private chambers.

The heads of the temple were very, very, very keen on keeping it a secret, and the oath of honesty, loyalty, and integrity all you acolytes had to take made for some great extra insurance, even without the threat of getting kicked out.

Those of your order that had been through those doors and back never talked about it, no matter how much the others pried, investigated, or tried to trick them—some of them even spoke of unpleasant visits from the followers of the other members of the Pantheon, or on the rare, unspeakable occasion, a visit from one of the other deities themselves.

(The latter tended to permanently drop their pursuit of answers, one way or the other.)

And speculation within the ranks were heavily discouraged—word of misbehaviour traveled fast, and while the sheer depth of punishment and consequences the heads of the temple could rain down upon you certainly were no visit from the God of Misfortune himself, they certainly came close.

But now, you were about to become the latest mortal to have had the privilege to go beyond those doors, see what lied beneath, what your patron deity did in the personal sanctum of her personal sanctum.

You realize you could have probably worded that better, but to be fair, your head was still spinning from all the ritual cleansing, the briefings, and the new oaths you had to take, essentially a rehashing of the initiate’s creed, except the punishments for breaking it were much more specifically lined out, graphic, and very, very, very easy to imagine happening to you in the immediate future.

And really, the threat of successive repetitions of all THAT sans the visit to the Goddess chamber’s at the end was deterrent enough.

Speaking of which, though your receiving the summons in the first place meant you had the Goddess’ full trust, it was clear that her representatives did not nearly feel the same way; the limitations of mortals, jealousy, or simply the Goddess’ instructions, it wasn’t clear why they were treating you like a chronically misbehaving young student being herded along and lectured by their stern teachers, but you shut up and let yourself be led without complaint all the same.

Finally, you arrive at the doors of the Goddess’ inner sanctum.

Giant granite slabs, lined with gold, jewels, and wreaths of thriving vines kept alive by the grace of the Goddess’ power. Lovingly carved reliefs of famous battles, the Goddess’ greatest allies both mortal and divine, all armed and dangerous with their weapons of choice, or simply standing proud if their own bodies were the only lethal instrument they required. And at the center of it all, shining with her own light like the sun, bringing hope, inspiration, and strength to all who beheld her:

Pyrrha, the Goddess of Victory, the Light in the Darkest Hours, the Patron Deity of the Enslaved, the Oppressed, the Imperiled, and the Saviours who came to their rescue.

The image did not come close to the reality, but it may as well have been her for all the times you have been able to see her in person, far in the back with a sea of other acolytes before you, the front reserved for those who had risen to the very top of the ranks through hard work, good fortune, and exceptional feats, and thus earned the right to see her face and within her immediate surroundings.

Some even rumoured they were the only ones with the ability and the tolerance to be beholden to such a sight without being reduced to a weeping wreck, though the amount of people who have happily admitted to being brought to tears by the mere sight of her poked quite lot of holes in that theory.

All your musings about the Goddess stop as you notice the temple head who had been escorting you the finally finished her last speech. You hadtried to listen to her theatrics and ceremony, as was proper, but soon found yourself following the Goddess’ personal guards’ example, looking entirely straight-faced through the entire thing while your attention was elsewhere.

You suppose it helped that said head was now scowling and looking very intently at you. “Well, young acolyte?” she asks. “Do you believe you are still worthy of this most incredible privilege, this most sacred of duties, a blessing not even one such as I have been granted by our Goddess…?”

You nod your head in what you hope is an appropriately respectful gesture that shows that you completely understand the gravity of what is about to occur, and will treat it appropriately.

The head seems completely unimpressed and more than a little displeased, but the doors of the Goddess’ inner sanctum suddenly glowed, and began to slide into the walls.

The guards on either side suddenly braced themselves for the possibility of any intrepid, uninvited, and opportunistic “uninvited guests” from trying to enter with you, but fortunately for this time, there are none in the temple who seem to be that stupid, or confident enough to try, or try again.

You peer into the darkness inside, see the much simpler set of wooden doors now standing between you and the Goddess’ quarters—“security feature,” you’ve overheard from people that had volunteered information to you, “probably have murder holes all over the ceiling for a second set of guards to pour unholy hell down on anything and anyone they don’t want getting inside.”

“Well?” the head says testily. “Get in!”

You make a like a fresh-faced, unwitting recruit in the Elysian army and jump forward on command, into the darkness. The slabs begin to slide back into place, the light from outside begins to disappear; through the little sliver of light left behind, you see the temple head looking at you the entire time, the look of disdain on her face replaced with something very different:

A look of brooding, probably wondering why she was the one looking at you from that side of the doors.

Then, darkness.

There is a brief moment where you feel your gut begin to sink, cold sweat pour down your skin as you remember the murder holes—no easier way to get rid of you than to simply pour something down from above, and let the tight seals of the doors prevent escape, yes?

Then, the wooden doors click and swing open, and you are bathed in warm, radiant light.

You have to shield your eyes as you make your way inside—it’s so bright you fear you would be blinded if you look straight at it, as if you were peering a mere inch away from the sun itself.

Then, the glow weakens, and you find there isn’t quite as much grossly incandescent rays threatening to sear your retinas anymore.

“I’m sorry, is that better…?” a familiar female voice asks.

You immediately fall to the ground and bow with your face turned to the floor, as even the most senior of temple heads do. You go through the respects you know by heart to the Great Goddess of Victory, say her various names and titles out loud, the most famous and beloved of her achievements, the–

“… Ah, you can stop, please. I, err, really don’t mind if you don’t do the whole speech…”

You silence yourself, and remain prone.

“… You can also look up and stand—I’d really prefer it if you do, please…”

You choose to slowly lift your head up, and open your eyes slowly, with the most respectful face you can possibly put on.

You find said face quickly turning into something very inappropriate for a face-to-face, private meeting with your patron deity, as your eyes grow wide, your jaw turns slack, and you find you really don’t have control over your mouth’s production of saliva anymore as the whole apparatus goes on overdrive.

You were quite aware that the Goddess is as renowned for her beauty as well as her other numerous positive traits, such as her strength, her patience, her determination, her generosity, her compassion, and all manner of other virtues which is why her followers rightfully call her one of the purest, most perfect paragons of Good among the Pantheon, the inevitable diametric opposite to ones such as the Lady of Darkness.

But really, you’d have to be divine yourself not to be affected by the sight before you—even from a purely aesthetic sense, she was a breathtaking sight.

Simple white peplos of pure white cloth, hanging loosely on her body from the golden brooches on her shoulders, the sash barely tightened around her waist, the sleeves missing and the sides open to expose her arms and legs.

Skin smooth and blemish free, radiant with vigour and her divine glow; long luxurious hair, red like raging fire let loose and wild, flowing over her shoulders, cascading down her back and past her waist; intense green eyes, more vibrant than the pride of the Elysia’s gardens, sparkling more than any gem you could mine, cut, and polish to perfection, more wisdom, experience, and compassion in them than any mortal could ever have in their lifetime.

Rippling, chiseled, and solid muscles like the finely and expertly chiseled work of a master given life, a figure that most would only see in artwork or the other deities, and you feel rather blasphemous at this moment, but by the name of the divine being standing in front of you, her breasts were absolutely perfect.

“… Uh… are you… are you okay right now…?” Pyrrha asks, looking worried.

The correct answer would be “No, I am currently overwhelmed by your beauty and the corresponding response of my perfectly functioning body parts, the reproductive ones especially,” but you manage to nod in between all the slack-jawed, wide-eyed drooling.

“Would you like to sit…?” Pyrrha asks, holding out her hand.

You find it in yourself to scramble up and take her hand, before you are summarily pulled back to your feet as if you were light as a feather—no, weightless like air, you don’t even see those muscles strain in the slightest.

You spend a moment there, drool running down from your mouth, staring into Pyrrha’s concerned face as you unconsciously memorize the sensation of your hand tightly clasping her own, the callouses, the firmness of her grip, the incredible strength you feel she’s pulling back to keep from effortlessly crushing your bones to dust, just like that.

“… I’m sorry, you are completely dumbstruck by my appearance, aren’t you?”

You nod again. No wonder so many of the people at the front wept at the sight of her, you think.

Pyrrha sighs. “Please come with me…” she said as she leads you further into her quarters.

It’s actually a very lovely place, if you could find that your sight could come completely or partially unglued from Pyrrha.

The structure was made purely out of pristine, high-quality marble, with the same thriving vines and foliage on the first set of doors, though this time, the decorations were much more informal; the reliefs from outside were notably absent, and in their place were gifts and mementos.

Some of them were clearly from the other members of the Pantheon such as the wicker baskets and the red cloths Death and her followers preferred for transporting or making offerings; others enchanted, moving images depicting some of her more treasured moments; and the rest simple keepsakes like a jar of shifting sands, no doubt from Khonsu, or storage like painted pottery and carved boxes.

The furniture was also rather simple and unassuming, especially compared to the brief glimpses you’ve had of the personal quarters of the rich, the affluent, and the very, very important.

The wood seemed to still be alive and thriving in spite of having been cut and shaped, the cushions and the sheets look soft like clouds and you assume would feel like them to the touch, but otherwise it felt like a much, much, much higher quality version of everything you’d find at a commoner’s home, and one that wasn’t fond of, or couldn’t afford much in the way of luxury and extravagance.

It is to one of the benches that Pyrrha leads you, sitting down before she gently coaxed you seat yourself beside her. With much less grace and composure, you obey, still holding her hand—you couldn’t really find it within you to let go.

“Did they explain to you what I wanted you here for?” Pyrrha asks.

With what sense and functioning of your frontal lobe you can manage, you explain (well enough for her to figure out the rest on her own, at least) that the heads of the temple were extremely vague about why it is exactly that she invited you of all her many acolytes into her personal chambers, and that the only clarity was that it was an extremely important job, and thus, had appropriately serious consequences should you fail at it.

Pyrrha watches you with an expression of ever increasing resentment, before finally, she sighs. “Yet again, irony cannot help but befall the Symbol of Integrity…” she mutters as she shakes her head.

You frown, worry like no other coming over you, and stammer as you ask her what’s wrong.

Pyrrha looks at you with a warm, sympathetic look. “It’s really no fault of yours, worry not!” she looks to the side. “It seems that for however much I trust and carefully choose my representatives, there seems to be no one I can rely on for this task but myself…”

She turns back to you, looking you directly in the eyes; at such an intense, focused, and serious look, you can’t help but smarten up in an instant, all your sense and good posture coming back to you like lightning striking the ground.

“I would like for you to please use me as your own personal sex servant.” Pyrrha says.

And just like that, all your sense and good posture abandons you, also like lightning striking, except in the opposite direction.

“What.”

Pyrrha blushes. “You know, like one of those beautiful young girls the aristocrats always have around to tend to their, err…” she curses under her breath, and after exasperation comes over her face for a few moments, she looks you in the eyes with the same determination and seriousness of earlier, and says, “I want you to please have sex with me like a whore you just hired to perform whatever it is you please with her, absolutely no limits!

“And I must emphasize,no limits—I am immortal, after all!”

Now that the initial shock has somewhat worn off, you take this opportunity to gather your thoughts, reflect on the events that just happened to you, the words that have come from your Goddess’ mouth, and the implications therein alongside her body language, her tone, and her expression to form a much more coherent, sensible, and well-constructed response to Pyrrha:

“My apologies, Goddess: what…?”

Pyrrha’s face falls again, before she sighs heavily, and gets a wistful look. “You are aware that myself and many of the other members of the Pantheon were once mortal, yes?”

You nod.

It was one of the biggest drivers to many an adventurer just setting out after all, to find that one act, quest, or feat that would ascend them to divinity.

“Well, aside from certain problems and limitations being deadened or removed entirely, we still have certain… urges that any other mortal has. Powerful urges, that can be ignored for a time, but will eventually require satisfying. Urges that, however expansive and incredible our capabilities are in other ways, we simply can’t satisfy or quench ourselves.

“Which is why I would like you to please use me like a common whore—or a favoured personal servant whose only role in your estate was to satisfy your lustful urges, if the former imagery was rather too vulgar for you.”

You slowly nod, your mind finally wrapping itself around this new information and understanding that Pyrrha was most definitely serious about every single word she was saying, emphasis on the “you using her like your own personal sex servant/whore” part especially.

But of course, you still have to ask: “Why me…?”

It feels like someone of her stature and consequence ought to deserve more than just an ostensibly randomly chosen acolyte out of her own temple, like Death had with her beloved concubine. A true beauty who was desired all throughout the realm, or a professional whose skills in seduction and sexual matters were simply unparalleled. Maybe even another one of the deities altogether, like the Dragon of the Golden Flame.

Throughout your entire explanation, Pyrrha’s face once again falls, before she cries out in frustration. “Because I want you specifically!” she says, and before you can ask again, she continues, “back before my Ascension, I loved being the barracks’ whore! Whoever needed or wanted to use me, I would gladly oblige them, because I truly, deeply enjoyed both the act itself and how much I could help the others!”

Her cheeks flush red, her breath suddenly grew heated. “Just… all their seed spilling out from my body, dripping and coating my skin, all that stress and frustration being released in the best way possible…!”

Pyrrha moans, before she claps her hand over her mouth, blushes even harder. She looks away, and mutters, “I’m sorry… this might must be quite the conflicting experience for you, learning that your goddess is so depraved and desperate…”

You say it certainly was quite an enlightening experience, at the least—or, well, something to that effect… even in clear distress, Pyrrha didn’t quite lose her divine beauty, which makes you feel rather ashamed of yourself all over again.

Pyrrha looks back at you, you are taken out of rumination. “Would you like to leave?” she asks softly.

You blink.

“You need only keep what happened in here a secret, as my representatives doubtlessly carved into your mind,” Pyrrha says, before she looks away again. “As much as I would like for my… proclivities to be an open secret, my position and the consequences of doing such prevent me…”

You find enough sense in you to ask her why she would send you away before you had performed the task that was asked of you—that you were specifically summoned to do, and that so many other members of the temple had spent so much time and effort and preparing you for.

Pyrrha smiles ruefully at you. “As keen as some of the other deities are at using their authority to get what they want, I would really rather that people choose to serve me, or oblige my wishes of their own free will, not because of my authority.”

She looks away again, her eyes distant. “I fight to free those enslaved by others, it’d be dangerously ironic if I also forced my will on you, regardless of your loyalty to myself and my temple—an effective tyrant inspires ferocious loyalty as much as fear and obedience in their people, after all.”

You hesitantly reach out to her, afraid to touch her—it sort of feels like you’re about to mar a masterpiece on secure display at a museum, or a particularly generous noble’s estate.

Pyrrha notices your hand hesitantly hovering some distance from her, and gently pushes it down. She holds up her own hand to your face and asks, “May I?”

You nod.

Her hand begins to glow with supernatural light as she passes it over your eyes. You’re blinded by the radiance, strangely painless, but it takes a while for your vision to return. And when it does, there’s quite the sight before you:

Pyrrha, except not as you’ve seen her before.

Her skin has lost that radiance of health, looking scarred and battered, the appearance of a proud soldier who’s been through hell and back, going above and beyond, doing more tours of duty than most people were even physically capable of, let alone willing to do. Her hair was still fiery and wild, but much more weathered and damaged, clearly fraying in some places. Her eyes were still the same, however, with that glow and depth that said she wasn’t mortal.

Well, not anymore, at least.

“Is this better…?” Pyrrha asks. “It’s what I looked like before… well, all this…” she mutters, gesturing outwards to the room with all its divine trappings.

You reflexively tell her that whatever form she believes is most comfortable for her, you will gladly see her in.

“But do you find this better…?” Pyrrha asks, peering at you intently.

You admit that your mortal mind isn’t quite as overwhelmed now—she’s still outstandingly beautiful, of that there is no doubt, but not quite to the level of divine and far beyond the level of mortals anymore.

Pyrrha smiles. “Good… so, my question, again, now that you’re able to think clearly: do you still wish to honour my… rather depraved request, or would you rather leave? Again, there are no consequences if you uphold your end of the bargain with your silence, and unlike my representatives’ promise that they will be clear about my intentions for inviting you to my chambers, I am being completely honest and straightforward with you.

“So, what will it be? Please, feel free to take your time, I understand this can be a rather… overwhelming prospect…” Pyrrha says, before she looks away and sits quietly by herself.

You think about it. Then, for however long it takes you to come to a decision, you tell Pyrrha that yes, yes you will be honouring her request.

She looks at you in surprise, blinking and looking she can’t quite believe it. “Really? Are you sure?” she asks.

You reply, in no uncertain terms, that yes, you will use her as if she were a whore you’ve paid to use however way you pleased, or if that imagery was too vulgar for you, as a prized personal sex servant, whose only role in your estate was to satisfy your lustful urges.

Pyrrha stares at you, before she smiles and even tears up a little. “Thank you…” she says, wiping her eyes dry. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, and how grateful I am you’ve chosen to, well, satisfy my urges…”

You ask if it’s been a while.

“Well, not really, no,” she replies, “it’s really more that being an immortal and therefore immune to exhaustion, hunger, and thirst can lead to quite the insatiable libido; I sometimes have to force myself to stop, especially when I go in the guise of a mortal, and it’d be all too suspicious if an entire barracks seemingly died of exhaustion over the course of one night…”

You take a moment to wonder just how the rest of the temple might react to this knowledge, that the Paragon of Virtue was like this with her personal life. No wonder the heads swore you to such absolute secrecy, you think.

Hypothetical situations future can wait, however, as you’ve got the very immediate reality of Pyrrha standing up from the bench and standing before you. “If I may please make just three other requests, before we start…?” she asked, her posture meek, her hands nervously clasped in front of her.

You tell her to go ahead.

“May I please return to my original form?” she asks, smiling hopefully. “There’s just something I really rather enjoy about the contrast between my normal, divine appearance, and well, the lewdness I do in such a form…”

You agree to that; you won’t really be needing your brain or higher cognitive function for a while, you suppose, so it being overwhelmed to the point of uselessness isn’t much of an issue.

“Thank you,” Pyrrha says with a nod. “Now, I know I gave you the choice of whichever hypothetical scenario excites you more, but I’m lately I’ve been rather in the mood for, well… this is absolutely embarrassing, but would you be amenable to switching roles?

“You as the deity, myself as your humble follower servicing you…?”

You also agree to that; it’ll certainly be new, and a little bit blasphemous, but then again, everything you thought of Pyrrha, and had learned about her from the supposed ultimate authorities short of herself have been crumbling to pieces, and replaced with realities FAR from what you thought they were.

Pyrrha’s smile grows. “One absolute last request,” she says as she reaches for a shelf behind you. “Could you please drink this?” she says, taking out an ornate vial, the metal and the fluid inside the colour of golden honey, radiant and sparkling like they were bathed in the bright noon sun.

At your instinctive hesitation of ingesting unfamiliar substances, Pyrrha explains, “It’s ambrosia—you know, the drink that helps us deities gain an extra boost of power when we need it, confers some of that same strength onto mortals, if only for a time?”

She blushes a deep scarlet. “Like I mentioned earlier: never tire, thirst, or hunger, and an insatiable libido, and with the strength I’m capable of, it might be best for your safety as well as the satisfaction my lustful urges…”

You agree to that last request by taking the vial in your hands, removing the stopper and bringing it to your lips. You start to drink it as you would wine or water, until you realize the ambrosia’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted before, better than anything you’d ever had—nay, would ever have.

The flavour is a complex medley of exotic tastes you can’t pin nor name but crave now, it flows effortlessly onto your tongue and down your throat, and as it settles into your stomach, you feel a warmth, a vigour, a power flooding all throughout your body.

It’s as if the ambrosia has awoken some long dormant beast inside of you, shackled and kept in the dark by the limitations of your mortal body and mind, and now? Now it rises, ascending to the highest mountain before it lets loose a mighty roar that explodes all throughout your reality, forever shattering and changing the world as you knew it.

You now also have an erection, harder than you have ever been before—nay, ever will be from this point on.

Pyrrha chuckles as she stands up and before you. “Oh my! It’s having quite the effect on you, isn’t it?”

With the tent in your clothes already getting stained sticky and wet from the supernatural virility your loins have been blessed with, you find you can only nod.

Pyrrha giggles, her smile turning subdued as mischief gleams in her eyes. “May this humble servant please service your cock then, oh Master…?” she asks.

You remove your own clothes with an agility, grace, and speed you’ve never shown before, leaving you completely bare in front of Pyrrha, your cock fully erect, pre-cum copiously dripping down from its head as it throbs in the air.

You watch as Pyrrha’s expression turns to one of surprise, excitement, then hunger, and tell her that yes, yes she may.

Pyrrha inhales a sharp breath, swallowing before she says, “Thank you, Master…” she whispers. “Please, give me a moment to prepare,” she says as she undoes the golden clasps of her own clothes, unties the sash around her waist.

The illusion falls away with her clothes, her body flawless and perfect once more, glowing with that divine vigour, and as you quickly notice, the insides of her muscular, well-sculpted thighs are also glistening with hot arousal all but pouring down her skin.

Have been for a while now, you realize as you inhale her scent with your heightened senses, grasp just how much your mortal body couldn’t compherend.

Pyrrha stands before you, completely bare, her hands clasped in front of her, just above the space between her legs and the little patch of fiery fur there. “How do you wish for me to service you, Master…?” she asks, looking at your face for a moment, before her eyes are all but locked on your cock.

You tell her you’d like for her to use her mouth.

Pyrrha nods, before she eagerly kneels before you, wrapping both her hands around your girth and stroking your length. Her grip is firm, her movement smooth and effortless, her eyes locked on your drooling cockhead as pre-cum dribbles and pours down her fingers and onto her palms.

She plants a wet, loving kiss on your cock, smearing a thick mess of white all over her lips, before she wraps them around your girth. She moans as your shaft spurts a huge gob of mess onto her tongue, you do the same as you feel her tongue lapping at your slit, the hot, wet, tight walls of her mouth wrapping around your girth as she sucks.

Your cock leaks and spurt even harder, rapidly turning Pyrrha’s mouth into a gooey, bubbly, flooded mess, her cheeks bulging in moments; she swallows, she lets out a low, shuddering moan, before she sucks and slurps at your length once more.

“Master…! Your cock is so good…” she mutters, her voice muffled from your shaft still in her mouth, her hands still pumping away at the base. “So virile”–the air is flooded with delightfully depraved sounds–”so delicious”—she gulps down the new mess in her mouth, another one rapidly pouring in–”so–mmmffff…!”

Pyrrha shivers as you suddenly erupt in her mouth, load after load of thick cum flooding her throat and spilling from her lips, her eyes widening before they roll to the back of her head as she swallows as much as she can, gurgling and moaning as she chokes on your seed.

She pulls away coughing, the rest of your orgasm raining down all over her, thick streaks of white across her face, into her flaming hair, onto her chest and her breasts; Pyrrha only closes her eyes, her lips wide open and her tongue lolling out, spunk gushing from her mouth, a new load of mess replacing it just as quickly.

“Mmmnn…” Pyrrha groans as your orgasm finally fades your cock still rock-hard, throbbing, and leaking “… so generous…!”

She blindly moves her face back to your cock, pressing her cheek to the side of your shaft; she guides her lips to back your girth, plants kisses all over its length as she makes her way back to your drooling cockhead.

As she reaches the top, you reach behind Pyrrha’s head, weave her luxurious locks between your fingers and grip her firmly. She gasps, before she moans again, shivering and whimpering. “Yes… please, use me, Master!”

You pull her mouth back onto your cock, she dutifully wraps her lips around it, lapping and sucking at your shaft as you you move her up and down the length of your shaft, before she’s wildly bobbing up and down all on her own.

Her mouth rapidly floods with pre-cum, thick, gooey mess bubbles out from her lips drips down her cheeks and her chin, all over your cock, your sack, her chest, and the ever growing puddle of fluids on the floor.

You feel yourself nearing an orgasm once more, you push her down to the very base of your cock, only the barest hint of resistance as you press up against the entrance to her throat, before your shaft slips right in; you hear and feel Pyrrha choke and gag on your cock, the walls of her throat spasming and tightening around your girth, every inch of your shaft buried inside your goddess–

–No, your beloved, obedient, wonderfully insatiable servant.

She doesn’t even try to pull away, still sucking and slurping, feeling all that thick, hot, gooey mess pouring straight down into her stomach, shaking and shivering as her pussy gushes and leaks.

She can barely make a sound the when you erupt once more, just a little, almost inaudible gurgling as her throat is flooded with your spunk, so much seed it bubbles up and pours out from her lips and all over her cheeks, your cock, your sac, her chest, her breasts, her stomach, the giant mess all over the floor.

She doesn’t hesitate as you pull her off your cock, a hand cupping a breast and smearing that mess all over that soft mound and its pair, her other hand darting between her legs and inside of her sopping wet pussy, bringing herself to orgasm as your own is still going, showering her with yet more spunk as she her whole body rocks from the pleasure, her arousal gushes all over herself and the floor.

Pyrrha slumps forward and nestles her head by the base of your cock and your sac, stroking and pointing your shaft upwards, feeling the last couple of ropes splatter all over her back and her hair. “I’m sorry, Master…” she mutters, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “I pleasured myself before you gave me permission to…”

She stands up, wipes the worst of your seed from her eyes with a bit of supernatural power, and goes back to that same hands-clasped pose as before—this time, though, with her belly bulging, cum drooling down and covering almost every single inch of her skin and her hair, more still dripping and leaking from her mouth.

“Please”–she coughs, covering her mouth with a hand, calmly smearing the new gob of spunk-and-spit on her hip before she resumes that same pose–”deliver whatever fate you feel I deserve for my error.”

You think for a moment, before you stand up and put a hand on Pyrrha, before you calmly lift her up into your arms—she’s practically weightless, thanks to the strength the ambrosia has given you. She cries out in surprise, before she her breathing grows hot and shallow once more, she eagerly awaits what you have in store for her.

You bring her to her simple, spacious bed, lay her down on it with her head over the edge. You don’t need to tell her anything as she tilts her head back, opens her mouth wide as she her hands hover at the level of your thighs, she plants her feet flat on the cushion with her knees bent an angle.

“I’m ready for my punishment, Master…” Pyrrha whispers as you stand before her, you firmly grip her hips as you bring your cock and sac over her mouth.

You take a moment to just press rub them over her face, enjoy the sound of her gasping, her heavy, excited breathing as your scent floods her nose with each breath; then, you pull back, guide the tip of your cock into her waiting mouth, before you ram it inside, all the way into her throat.

“Mmmrrfff–!” Pyrrha cries out, her voice muffled, more incoherent noises of delight filling the air as you start to buck your hips.

It’s only for the clearly divine origin of the bed, and the sturdy, high quality marble the room was made off that your surroundings merely rocked and shook from the force of your rutting, rather than broke and crumbled.

You rock Pyrrha’s body each time you hilt her, almost pushing her upwards on the bed if she wasn’t pushing right back, keeping her mouth and throat at the perfect angle for you to ram your cock in and out of her throat.

The air fills with all manner of lewd noises—Pyrrha’s gagging, choking, and muffled moans and cries; the slobber and the spunk spilling out from her lips and splattering all over her face, raining down on the floor; her cum-covered breasts bouncing and clapping together like mad as you use her.

You don’t lag, you don’t stop, you don’t need to, and neither does Pyrrha, sucking, slurping, and swallowing, until your cock erupts a third time.

Even the vastly expanded capacity of your mind is overwhelmed by the pleasure, your vision flooding with what you assumed the astral plain to look like, your body still going wild like an animal, ramming your cock into the flooded, bubbling, overflowing mess inside Pyrrha’s mouth, still jerking and cumming as you unconsciously pull out of her, thrust into the air and leave the rest of your orgasm to rain down all over her body, all the mess in her mouth to gush and pour out from her mouth, all over her face, and to the floor.

And unfortunately, as sense slowly begins to trickle back down to you, you feel all that warmth, that vigour, that power of earlier ebbing away like the tide.

Pyrrha spends a few moments in bliss at the absolutely depraved, filthy state you’ve left her in, before she notices you beginning to visibly lag.

You inquire about more of that ambrosia.

Takes a few moments to gracelessly, messily clear her throat, before she says, “Sorry… that’s as much as I feel is safe to give you for now. Ambrosia can have some rather… addictive and terrible side-effects on mortals, if overused.”

Fair enough. As feel your mind’s horizons start to shrink again, and exhaustion start to set in, you ask whether this is the end of your service to her.

You feel her smile underneath the mess. “Not exactly…”

A short while after, and with the aid of plenty more divine powers or mysterious concoctions from her shelves, the two of you lay together in Pyrrha’s bed, still naked, still messy, but with enough cleaned off that it wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

“Thank you…” Pyrrha whispers as you cuddle together, before she gives you a kiss on your lips. “This has been an absolutely wonderful time…” she smiles. “Simply divine, you could say.” She chuckles, before she quickly stops. “My apologies: too much time with the Dragon…”

You try to manage a response, but sleep has come to take you now that you are vulnerable once more, and with a vengeance, at that.

“Sleep well…” Pyrrha hums as you close your eyes. “The Goddess of Victory will protect you, in your waking hours or when you lay your head to rest…”

You feel her idly caressing and stroking your body, your Goddess personally surrendering to a deep, restful, and pleasant slumber…


End file.
